Someplace Nice
by inkstainedfingers97
Summary: Can't stay on the road forever, Patrick. Eventually, you gotta let it take you someplace. Post ep for 7x10, Nothing Gold Can Stay.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Believe me, if I could pay off my student loans by writing fanfic, it'd be done by now.

Spoilers: 7x10, Nothing Gold Can Stay

A/N: Oh, curses. I really wanted to get this finished before 7x11 aired, but alas, the inconvenience of having to work for a living is interfering with my fic ambitions. So giving you the first half now in hopes that I won't lose heart when tomorrow's episode completely undoes all my hopes and suppositions. Please forgive any typos, posting in a bit of a rush so I can go back to writing right away.

Also, as a side note, I've decided lovesick!Jane is my favorite thing to write ever.

xxxx

Jane drove for three days.

He drove aimlessly, without purpose. He'd told Lisbon he was going someplace nice, but the truth was there was really no place he particularly wanted to go. His flight was driven by the need to get away from this crippling fear, the bitter taste of adrenaline on the back of his tongue every time he had to watch her rush headlong into danger.

He felt a rush of anger at the thought. How could she not understand how difficult this was for him? That it was impossible for him to risk her. That every time she put herself in the path of danger, she was carrying his raw, exposed heart with her. She had to understand that her death would destroy him, utterly and irrevocably. She _had_ to.

He'd really thought she'd come with him. She'd seemed reluctant when he'd started talking about traveling around the world, but he'd thought he'd sown the seeds. Thought that when he suggested they leave for real, she'd be ready.

Perhaps he just hadn't given her long enough. He'd always known it would take time for those seeds to germinate. That's why he'd started so early. He thought he'd have time. Then Vega had died and it was as though he'd been cruelly woken from a heavenly dream. He'd been fooling himself. He didn't have time. Every second Lisbon stayed in this job with her guns and her not one hundred percent bullet proof vests was a threat to everything he held precious.

He'd surprised himself by how hurt he'd been when he realized she wasn't going to come with him after all. That in the end, she'd chosen the job over him. He remembered her telling him she loved him, but she loved her job, too. _You can't be jealous of that._ At the time, he'd dismissed her words without a second thought. The idea was preposterous. _It wasn't about that._

He thought about her eyes sparkling at him as they danced under the colored lights and clutched the wheel tighter.

He pulled over on a dirt track off an abandoned back road and parked the Airstream under a tree. His eyes were gritty with exhaustion. He hadn't been sleeping, not really. He'd tried, the first night, but instead he'd lain awake, staring at the ceiling and thinking about Lisbon's terrible singing. About her warm body next to his at night, relaxed and comfortable against him. About how he could think of few things sweeter than the laughter in her voice as she'd curled up next to him and sung him her off-key version of 'Livin' on a Prayer.'

After that, he drove through the night. When he got so tired he couldn't see straight, he'd pull over and catch a few hours of sleep, usually in the middle of the afternoon, when the sun was hot and high. He ignored the fact that he kept waking with his hand stretched out towards the other side of the narrow bed, reaching for her.

He didn't feel like sleeping now, despite his exhaustion. He didn't want to dream of her. Waking, she plagued his thoughts, but at least no dangerous illusions haunted him when his eyes were open, however shadowed and bleary they got.

He got out of the Airstream and stretched. His spine cracked, his lower back protesting the long hours hunched over the wheel in one position. He realized he was vaguely hungry and went back into the Airstream. He grabbed a plastic wrapped sandwich he'd bought at a service station a couple hundred miles back. It had seen better days. He sat down under the tree. He unwrapped it and took a bite without really tasting it. (Which was just as well, really. He registered vaguely that even Rigsby would have turned up his nose at such fare). He ate the rest of it anyway. The sandwich dulled his hunger without really assuaging it. He crumpled the plastic wrap into a ball and put it in his jacket pocket, wiping his hands on his trousers. He pulled his knees up towards his chest and rested his forearms on his knees, letting his hands dangle listlessly between them. Then he just sat, staring into space.

His mind's eye clicked through a slideshow of a thousand moments he'd shared with Lisbon over the past thirteen years. The moment they'd met, her eyes kind but wary. The feeling of her hand on his shoulder after Hannigan had punched him, the first time anyone had touched him in a long time. The flash of anger in her eyes when she felt he'd crossed a line. The first time he'd seen her in a leather jacket and it had dawned on him in a more than abstract way that she was actually quite a beautiful woman. Her calm efficiency directing her team in the field. How cute she was when he managed to fluster her, and how often he'd gone out of his way to do just that once he'd realized that fact.

He'd loved her far longer than he'd given himself credit for, he realized. He'd always known she was attractive, of course. For a long time he'd managed to delude himself that the pull he felt towards her was just that—simple attraction, nothing more. He'd grown uncomfortably aware that perhaps it was slightly more than that when he shot Hardy to save her, but after all, he wasn't a _completely_ heartless bastard. He was hardly going to allow someone he cared for to be shot in cold blood right in front of him, not if there was anything he could do to stop it. He persuaded himself that what he felt for her all those years was friendship. He'd never had a friend like her before, so he didn't have any kind of benchmark for comparison. She was such an extraordinarily good friend.

His months in Vegas had forced him to face the truth. He missed her so much it was like a physical ache. He loved her. When he'd gone back to see her, it had practically spilled out of him. But then the truth of what it meant for him to love her had struck him and he'd panicked. Under no circumstances could Red John find out. So he'd pushed her away. He'd blown hot and cold with her, ruthlessly ignoring the hurt and confusion in her eyes every time he did something calculated to demonstrate to anyone who was watching he was _absolutely not in love with her._

Then there had been the lost two years without her in that beautiful, lonely place. He'd been quite maudlin about her there. He wrote her dozens of what he knew were love letters, though he was careful to frame them in a way designed to prevent her from labeling them with the same name. He thought of the giddy relief of seeing her again—seriously, how had she grown even more beautiful in the last two years than the image he'd carried around in his memory—followed by the paralyzing uncertainty of how to find his footing with her after everything he'd done to her. He'd been tentatively preparing to reach out to her, to ask her if she would consider being with him in a more than professional and friendly capacity when he'd suddenly found himself experiencing the torture of watching her with Pike. He'd never forget the cold dread in his stomach when he'd finally understood that she was going to leave him to be with someone else.

But then everything had changed. He'd scaled a fence and finally told her how he'd felt, and miraculously, she'd stayed.

The past few months, he'd felt like he was living something out of someone else's life. He'd been so determined not to take her for granted, to not let a day go by without making her understand how treasured she was. For a while, it seemed to be working. He watched her eyes light up when he slipped an origami swan in her pocket, her small smile when he brought her mints for her pillow.

Then Vega had been shot and reality had come crashing down around his ears. It wasn't real, this dream world he'd been living in the past several months. Lisbon wasn't safe. As long as she was in this job, she wasn't safe. If only he could spirit her away to a place without guns or murderers. Someplace safe. Someplace nice.

But she hadn't come with him. He shut his eyes, as though that could protect him from the image of her standing in that cemetery, alone and desolate. Was that really going to be the last time he'd ever see her? Eyes shining with tears, looking broken-hearted? Jane had done a lot of terrible things in his life, but the idea that his last sight of her included that hurt expression on her face was rapidly climbing the ranks in the master list of his regrets.

All the other times he'd left her, at least part of him had always held onto some hope of seeing her again. Vegas. Venezuela. He'd always intended to come back from Vegas, and even when he'd left for Venezuela, deep down, he'd secretly believed he would see her again someday. The only time he'd really feared he'd never see her again was when he'd left her on that cliff in Malibu. But then, he'd thought there was a very good chance he was going to his death, so if he was right, well, at least he wouldn't have to live with it long.

All the times he'd left her. He winced inwardly, well aware of what a bastard that made him sound like. It wasn't that one time, or both times. They'd progressed firmly and definitively to _all_. He didn't sound like a bastard, he _was_ one.

He thought again of her face crumpling in the cemetery and felt a stab of guilt like a knife to the gut. He hated himself for hurting her. But he'd hated himself a long time. He was used to it. Another decade or two of self-loathing wouldn't kill him.

Xxx

He fell asleep under the tree. He woke up sprawled on the ground, his head awkwardly pillowed on a tree root. A particularly knobbly root dug into the small of his back.

He sat up, disoriented. Dimly, it occurred to him that he had no earthly idea where he was. Also, he was starving, and he was pretty sure he didn't have any food left.

It was that golden time of day just before sunset. He must have slept about five hours. He got up and went inside the Airstream in search of supplies.

He re-emerged a few minutes later with a map and a small package of Oreos he'd bought for Lisbon a while back. He pulled out his little camp table and spread the map out on top of it. Something fell out of the folds of the map and fluttered to the ground. He bent to pick it up. It was the photograph he'd taken from her parents' house, the one with young Teresa with a dog cradled inside a white coat about three sizes too big for her. His chest ached. This was the only photograph he had of her. Why hadn't he taken any photographs of her after they'd gotten together? Why had he never pilfered any snapshots from fundraisers or team dinners in all their years at the CBI?

Because he'd had the real thing. It hadn't occurred to him that he'd need a reminder because he'd always known she would be there, her strong, sure presence the one constant in his life.

He traced his fingertips over the photograph. If he'd stayed, would they have eventually settled down, started a family? Had a daughter that looked like this? Her face all eyes and freckles, surrounded by a cloud of dark hair? His throat was suddenly thick with desperation to know this ghost-child, this freckled teenager he would never meet now due to a situation entirely of his own making.

He put the photograph down and forced his attention to the map. He thought he must be in Utah by now, or perhaps Arizona. Maybe even Nevada. If that were the case, he'd need to change his course. If he kept going west, he'd end up in California. He really didn't think he could handle California right now. He would have to head north. Not towards Washington. He'd probably have to skip Oregon and Idaho, too. Too close to Washington. Montana. He thought he could safely go to Montana without it reminding him of her constantly. Maybe he could keep going, head into Canada. He'd heard Waterton was nice. He'd thought about trying to persuade Lisbon to go there with him next summer, when it got too hot for any reasonable person to want to be in Texas. Waterton was a beautiful place, with an old-fashioned lodge that he thought might strike a happy balance between rustic and comfortably cozy.

Oh, hell. Maybe he should just move to Alaska and have done with it. Lisbon hated the cold—she'd never want to go to Alaska.

He applied his considerable powers of concentration to focusing on the map. Before he could make any decisions about his destination, first he had to figure out where the hell he was. He studied the map and tried to remember if he'd passed any significant landmarks recently that could give him some clue as to his current location.

He thought he'd passed a sign for a place called Stinnet not too long before he'd pulled onto the back road that had led him to this spot under the tree. He seemed to recall seeing another sign for some kind of recreation area, as well. He scoured the map for a town called Stinnet in Arizona or Utah, but had no luck. He was about to turn his attention to Nevada when the combination of letters he was searching for caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He bent close to the map, disbelieving.

He was still in Texas.

He straightened, frowning. How the hell could he still be in Texas? He'd been driving for three days. It was a big state, but it wasn't _that _big. He continued to study the map, mystified. He traced his finger over the route he'd been following. If he'd been going in a straight line, he would have hit this destination towards the end of the first day of driving. What's more, he'd apparently backtracked since passing Stinnet. According to the map, he was maybe two miles away from Lake Meredith Recreation Area, which was a little ways south of Stinnet. Logically, it made no sense for him to have turned back this way. If he'd continued on past Stinnet without turning off the road and stopping, he'd be well past the border by now.

That was the problem, he realized. He'd been backtracking all along. He thought about what he'd told Abbott and Cho about that horrible young woman who had stolen that car and nearly allowed Lisbon to be killed right in front of him. Consciously, the girl had followed a path designed to mislead his pursuers, but subconsciously, she'd been drawn towards the place she felt safest. Her desire to return to the only home she knew had betrayed her.

He'd been doing the exact same thing. He could see it in the path he'd chosen. Consciously, he'd driven in the direction his brain told him was "away." Away from the fear, away from the possibility of his soul being crushed in front of his own eyes. But whenever he got tired, let the exhaustion overtake him and let his guard down, he'd unconsciously started turning back towards the only home _he _knew. His heart had betrayed him and he'd gravitated back towards her.

The words of the peanut farm commune leader he'd met last year suddenly came into his head, unbidden. _Can't stay on the road forever, Patrick. Eventually, you gotta let it take you someplace._ Jane sighed. Apparently, she was his someplace. For him, all roads led back to her.

This was a big problem. How was he supposed to leave the fear behind if he kept sabotaging himself without realizing it?

He considered the problem, absently reaching for the packet of Oreos. He opened it and took a bite of the cookie. It was crumbly and a little stale. He finished the first one and reached for another.

He could ditch the Airstream, he supposed. Buy a plane ticket somewhere. He could hardly change his mind and reverse course halfway across the Pacific.

The thought held little appeal. Besides, he thought gloomily, he wouldn't put it past himself to con the pilot into redirecting the course of the flight if he got cold feet after all. He'd already had enough trouble with the TSA for one year.

He ate a third Oreo, then a fourth.

Lisbon loved Oreos. This was a packet of six. If she'd been here, he'd have been lucky to get two for himself. He ate a fifth Oreo, thinking miserably that he'd have happily ceded the whole package to her if he could had one more look at her, one where she was happy and smiling instead of hurt and sad. He had a brief image of Lisbon and the ghost-child, chowing down on a larger package of Oreos, laughing together and refusing to give him a single one.

He set down the package of Oreos with one cookie remaining. The crumbs were sticky and dry in his throat. He could have had that, he thought. He could have given her a life, a family. He could have gotten to meet that beautiful ghost-child, see her roll her eyes at him just like her mother whenever he did something she deemed ridiculous. He looked at the picture of Lisbon again. He could have at least gotten her a dog. Lisbon should have a dog. She loved dogs.

He folded up the map. It was possible, he reflected, that he'd made a colossal mistake.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: If I could make money off of this, believe me, I'd be living a very different kind of life.

Rating: T

Spoilers: 7x10, Nothing Gold Can Stay

A/N: You should all be very impressed with me, because I told myself I wouldn't allow myself to watch 7x11 until I finished writing this, for fear of losing heart after the show inevitably contradicted my take on the aftermath of 7x10. This involved exercising about a thousand times more self-control than I am normally capable of. Thus, I hereby fling this fic at you so I can immediately run off and get my fix.

xxx

He drove back to the main road and stopped in Stinnet to get some real food. He felt an irrational fondness for Stinnet. He found a diner that served decent burgers and drank a glass of orange juice. He rented a hotel room for the night with the intention of setting out in the morning. That would give him a chance to rest and clean himself up a bit more thoroughly than he usually bothered to do in the cramped shower inside the Airstream.

At one am, he was back on the road. He drove through the night.

He arrived in Austin a little after nine am. He would have preferred to have caught her at her house before she left for work, but she'd be at the office by now. He drove to FBI headquarters instead.

He entered the bullpen feeling uncharacteristically nervous. He wiped his palms on his thighs and stepped forward.

He saw Lisbon before she saw him. She was only a few feet away from the desks of her teammates, but she looked isolated and lost. As though she were alone on a raft of sticks set adrift in the middle of the ocean. Deep purplish shadows rested beneath her eyes. He could tell at a glance she hadn't been eating or sleeping properly. His heart plummeted into his stomach at the sight of the damage his actions had wrought.

She looked up and saw him standing there, staring at her like a starving man. Her mouth parted softly in surprise. Their eyes locked. For once, he had no idea what she was thinking. But he had one unhoped for, steadying moment where that _connectedness_ he'd always had with Lisbon was there in the room with them, a practically tangible thing binding them together. Then her mouth hardened into a thin line and she determinedly looked back at her computer screen as though she hadn't seen him.

He supposed he deserved that. He met Cho's eyes, sitting at the desk in front of hers. Cho managed to communicate a feeling of deep disgust towards him in a single expressionless look before he, too, turned back to his computer.

"Hey, guys," Jane said lamely. "I'm back."

No response. He looked over at Wylie's desk. Jason looked stricken. He was even paler than usual. "How's it going, Wylie?" he asked, relieved that he could count on at least one friendly face in the place.

Wylie's reaction was not all he'd hoped for. "Fine," Wylie said coldly. _Coldly._ Wylie. Cold. His expression was hard, which looked strange on Wylie. Wylie was like a happy puppy—always warm and friendly. This newer, harder Wylie was difficult to reconcile with Jane's knowledge of the affable analyst.

"Glad to hear it," Jane mumbled uncomfortably.

Wylie looked back at his own computer screen, his jaw tense. Jane thought he heard him mutter under his breath, "Fuck you, man."

Jane blinked. He hadn't known Wylie even knew that word.

He retreated.

Xxx

Only Abbott was happy to see him.

"Patrick Jane," he greeted him cheerfully when Jane shuffled into his office. "You are the stupidest man on the face of the planet."

Jane had never heard these words applied to himself before. He considered them seriously. "Dennis," he said finally. "I've recently come to realize that your assessment is one hundred percent correct."

Abbott chuckled. "Well, they say recognizing the problem is half the battle."

Jane thought about the look on Lisbon's face when she'd turned away from him. "I think in this case, it's probably more like twenty-five percent."

"Sounds like you've got your work cut out for you."

"Yeah," Jane agreed. He regarded Abbott. "You don't seem surprised to see me."

Abbott shrugged. "You couldn't stay away from her before. It hardly seemed likely that you'd be able to now."

"You knew I'd come back."

"I figured you'd last a month, tops," Abbott said. "I'm glad to see you came to your senses sooner than that. Maybe there's hope for you yet."

"Maybe," Jane said doubtfully. He got up. "Thanks, Dennis."

"Anytime. And Jane?"

"Yeah?"

"Try not to do anything else this stupid again."

Xxx

Jane went out to the bullpen and walked straight up to Lisbon's desk. "Can we talk?"

"I'm working," she said shortly.

He waited a beat. "It's important."

"No."

He sighed inwardly. "Please, Lisbon. I don't want to do this here."

"Good. Now, go away."

"I don't want to do it here, but I will," he said clearly. "Right here in front of everyone you work with."

She looked daggers at him.

"It will probably be loud and embarrassing," he added helpfully.

Her eyes flashed. "You son of a bitch," she seethed.

Oh, good, she was angry. He suppressed a sigh of relief. He could deal with angry Lisbon. It was sad, heartbroken Lisbon he couldn't cope with.

He gestured for her to precede him towards the exit. "After you, my dear."

Xxx

He led her outside to their favorite bench. He looked at it fondly. They'd spent many happy lunch hours here, sharing their lunches and bickering over things like who got the extra pickle from Clementine's sandwich shop that day.

Lisbon ignored the bench. She crossed her arms over her chest and remained standing. "Well?" she demanded. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I think we should get married," Jane said without preamble.

The look of shocked incredulity on her face was less than flattering. "Are you insane?"

"No. I think we should get married and get a dog. We'll get a house, have a couple of kids. I'm thinking one girl, one boy."

"Unbelievable," she muttered.

"I'm flexible on the number and genders," he added.

"Big of you," she said sarcastically.

"And to sweeten the deal, I'll give you first dibs on picking out names," he offered generously.

"_Dibs?_"

"I should have veto power on the names, though," he said. "It's only fair."

"Absolutely not."

"Really, it's for the best, Teresa. You might not agree at the time, but what if after eighteen hours of labor, you start to think Hortensia is an appropriate name for a child? Trust me, you'll thank me later."

He could practically see the steam pouring from her ears. "I meant no to the marriage thing."

"Ah. Okay, we'll revisit that topic later. Now, if we're agreed that you get to pick out the names for our children, I think I should get to name the dog."

"We're not getting a dog, Jane."

"Of course we should have a dog, Lisbon. You love dogs."

"You _left_, Jane. You don't get to just breeze back into my life and be all… _you_ about this."

"I'm not breezing into your life," he protested. "I'm in your life. For good. I may have flitted away for a brief period, but there has been no breezing involved."

Her mouth tightened. "I'm glad you're able to joke about this. I'd hate to think you'd lost your sense of humor over a little thing like walking out on me."

"I get why you're upset," he assured her. "I do." He paused. "I wasn't expecting Wylie and Cho to take it so hard, though."

"You left them, too, Jane," she said harshly. "Friends are supposed to support each other in times of grief. You say you're their friend, but you bailed out on them because your fear is more important to you than anything they might be going through."

He winced. He had no defense against this distressing analysis. He was also acutely aware that her words applied equally well to all the times he'd left her in the past. "That was a mistake. I shouldn't have left."

"Well, you did leave," she said caustically.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't mean much to me, coming from you," she said wearily. "Not when you just keep doing the same damn thing over and over again."

"This is different."

"How?"

"I won't leave again."

"How am I supposed to believe that when all the evidence I have at my disposal tells me that any time you get into a situation you can't control, your reaction is to run away?"

"We'll get married," he repeated. "I'll stay."

"You seriously think proposing right now is a good idea?" she said, annoyed.

"I'm not proposing," Jane said, affronted.

"Sure as hell sounds that way to me," she said crossly.

"I would never propose at the FBI. This would be a terrible place to propose," he said, well aware that Pike had done just that. "I'm just… expressing my intentions."

She huffed in exasperation. "Marriage isn't a magic bullet, Jane. Getting dressed up for a day isn't going to solve our underlying differences."

"Of course it isn't. But marriage is a way of formally declaring our commitment to finding a solution together."

"You said we'd work it out before, Jane. And then you left. Again."

"Well, I was being stupid."

"I'm glad you recognize that, at least," she said stiffly.

"I really am sorry," he said soberly.

"I thought you'd left for good, Jane," she said quietly. "I thought you were never coming back."

"I'm here," he said pathetically. "I'm back."

"I can see that. Just… please don't make this more difficult than it already is."

He stared at her. What the hell did that mean?

She inclined her head towards the office. "I'm going back to work now." And without any further ado, she turned on her heel and walked away.

"So you'll think about the whole wedding thing, then?" he called after her.

She didn't answer and she didn't look back.

Xxx

He decided he'd better take care of Wylie and Cho before trying again with Lisbon. He went back inside to make his amends.

He pulled Wylie aside first. He apologized sincerely for leaving, and let the younger man know he was available if Wylie ever wanted to talk. They spoke for about a half an hour, with Jane offering every comfort he could. Wylie unbent after a bit, and they parted friends once again.

It went faster with Cho. It turned out he was mainly angry about how Jane had treated Lisbon, so all Jane had to do was explain that he'd been an ass and outline his intention to spend the next forty or fifty years of his life making it up to her before Cho started to come around. "'Kay," Cho said tersely after Jane had said his piece, and then left. Jane interpreted this particular example of Cho's succinct communication style as a sign that while he wasn't exactly forgiven, the other man didn't believe he was completely beyond redemption. As long as Jane delivered what he promised, eventually, they'd be good.

Apologies made and forgiveness in the offing from his two colleagues, he went back to the Airstream. He returned to the bullpen a few moments later with a peace offering in hand.

He approached Lisbon's desk and held out a blue and white package to her. "I have something for you."

Lisbon stared at the plastic package in his hand. "What the hell is that?"

"What does it look like?"

"It looks like a crumpled up piece of garbage."

"It's a gesture of good faith," he told her, handing her the package.

She looked at the package in her hand. "Your gesture of good faith is a half-eaten package of Oreos?"

"That's not what it is at all," he said, exasperated.

She peered inside it. "You're right. It's a more than half-eaten package of Oreos. There's only one left."

He ignored this. "This is a very significant package of Oreos, Lisbon."

She looked at it again dubiously. "If you say so."

"I do."

"What exactly does it signify?"

"It signifies the fact that I've eaten my last Oreo."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Well, I figure our children will be horrible Oreo hogs just like you, so it seems my chances of sneaking any away for myself in the future are pretty slim. This package is to let you know I'm okay with that."

Lisbon shook her head. "And in your head, this makes sense?"

"Certainly. I'm sure once you've had time to reflect, you'll appreciate the significance of my gesture."

"I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you," she muttered.

Jane hit her with his most earnest expression. "Just think about it."

Her eyes narrowed, but she set the package on the corner of her desk.

Jane suppressed a sigh of relief. She clearly didn't know what to do with his offering, but the fact that she hadn't thrown it straight back in his face was a hopeful sign.

Xxx

Jane spent the rest of the day on his couch, happily staring at the back of Lisbon's beautiful head.

It was driving her crazy. She refused to turn around and give him the satisfaction of acknowledging her awareness of him, but she definitely knew he was staring and it was making her fidgety. He didn't look away. He wanted his presence felt.

At the end of the day, she was out the door like a shot, clearly desperate to get away from his relentless staring.

Jane let her go. He smiled a little to himself and settled back on his couch more comfortably. He closed his eyes, deciding it was high time he took a nap. He needed to save up his energy for later.

xxx

He knocked on her front door a few minutes after eight.

She opened the door, looking irritable.

"Evening, Lisbon," he said cheerfully. He brushed past her as he entered the house without waiting for an invitation.

She shut the door behind him, clearly annoyed by his impertinence. Really, he thought, she ought to be used to that by now.

She glared at him. "What do you want?"

"I thought we could spend the evening together."

"I'm busy," she said repressively.

"Fine. I'll wait," he said, knowing full well what she was busy with was unnecessarily straightening her apartment to work off her frustration with him. Not that he didn't think she was entitled to be frustrated with him. It was just that he had an entirely different method of working off that frustration in mind.

She scowled. "Just say what you have to say."

He considered this. "Very well." He stepped forward, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her.

She sighed into his mouth, melting into him for several delectable seconds before she remembered she was mad at him and pulled away. She straightened, flustered. "That's what you have to say for yourself?"

"Actually, I have a few more points to make," he said, backing her up against the door and bending his head to taste her again. He settled his hands on her hips and set himself to devouring her mouth.

Lisbon kissed him back fiercely. That was his Lisbon. Always prepared to battle him on even ground, no matter the battlefield.

He snaked his hand under her shirt and splayed his fingers against the small of her back, drawing her closer to him.

She shoved him away a little. "What do you think you're doing?" she growled.

He moved in close again and wound his hands in her hair, kissing her again, long and deep. "What _we're_ doing. Kind of obvious, isn't it?"

She bit his lip. Hard. "We're fighting."

He licked his lip and stroked his thumbs along her waist. "Yeah, I thought we could just skip past that step and go straight for the make up sex."

"We haven't made up," she pointed out, her body betraying her as she swayed closer to him. "I'm still mad at you. And trying to seduce me into forgetting that isn't fair."

She was right, of course. Using physical affection to convince her to let him back in her life was cheating. Under-handed. Manipulative. He looked at her mouth.

Good thing he wasn't above all that.

"I never said I was going to play fair," he said, and kissed her again for all he was worth.

She kissed him back, matching him taste for taste. He hauled her against him, pressing the length of his body against hers as he tilted her head back and delved her with his mouth. Her breathing hitched as he pressed forward, bracing her more firmly against the door. He curved the length of his body towards her, thrusting his hips lightly into her.

"You are such an ass," she ground out, her fingers clutching at his shoulders as she kissed him again.

"Stipulated," he grunted, grinding into her. She opened her mouth to continue arguing, but he zeroed in on a place on her neck he knew was guaranteed to make her lose the capacity for rational thought.

"Oh my God," she groaned, her eyes rolling back in her head.

Five minutes later, he was the one with his back against the door.

"I want you to know," she said, feverishly unbuckling his belt and kissing him senseless. "I'm only agreeing to this because up until this morning, I was afraid I might not ever have sex again."

He flipped them around again. He slid his hands down to her ass and lifted her so she was pinned against the door. She wrapped her legs around his waist and sucked hard at the skin where his neck met his shoulder. He growled and pulled her closer. "I can live with that."

xxx

An hour and a half and three orgasms later, she lay half on top of him, boneless with exhaustion. "Don't think this means I've forgiven you," she said, her voice drugged with sex. "I'm still mad."

They'd finally made it to the bedroom after the second time. Though to be fair, they'd made it a good halfway there before they'd gotten distracted on the stairs. Now they were in her bed, and Jane was deliriously happy.

He kissed her bare shoulder and pulled the sheet up around them so she wouldn't get cold. "I know." He figured he had several weeks of groveling in his future. But they'd get through this. They would work everything out.

She yawned. "I ate your Oreo."

"Oh?"

"It was stale," she said grumpily.

"Sorry about that."

"You should get me a new package," she instructed him. "A big one."

"I'll get you a lifetime supply," he promised.

"'Kay," she said sleepily.

"I missed you," he whispered.

She turned her head and met his eyes. "I missed you, too."

He took her hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her fingertips before placing her hand over his heart.

Her fingers flexed against his chest. "So what happened out there?"

"Out where?"

"Out there. On the road. I thought you were going 'someplace nice.'"

"I was," he agreed, turning over slightly so he could press a tender kiss to her collar bone.

She tilted her neck slightly to grant him better access. "So what happened?"

He buried his nose in the soft, sweet-smelling skin of her neck. "As it turns out, this is the nicest place I know."


End file.
